MAHARAJ JI
The Superior One A remembrance by Kira Redeen
MORNING AND
EVENING are darshan times at Sawan Ashram. The crowd
starts collecting in advance. They meditate and wait in from of the house of
Master Kirpal Singh Ji. When the
Satguru comes out everyone’s expression changes. You can see that these are the
loving children who once again are sitting together with their beloved Father. The Indian
disciples come to talk to our Master in family groups, in pairs, or just by
themselves. Each one brings his problem, be it mundane or spiritual, to the
feet of the Master. When everyone
has been taken care of, Master goes to the portico of His house, often inviting
the visiting disciples from the West to join Him there. The Indian
remain outside and you can hear them talking in a melodious foreign language
which you do not understand. But one word chimes and rings without letup as a
thrilling undertone: “Maharaj ji, Maharaj Ji, Maharaj Ji,” and you
understand Whom they are talking about. We heard that
shortly before our arrival a little old woman who lives at the Ashram had
approached Master at one of the darshans saying that she didn’t see anything
inside. Asking if she
had kept her diary, Master was informed she couldn’t read or write but that she
did have a candle. Master reportedly asked, “Why do you people need all these
outward symbols, candle, flowers? Just go within and then see for yourself.” However, His comment apparently made little
impression or was misinterpreted because a few days later at darshan she said
that she had seen Master inside in all His glory. Please, her
Satguru inquired what she had done. “I put candles
and flowers around the dairy forms and you appeared to me,” she said. Later, Master
told us, “The simple folk get there so much faster than the pundits, the
learned men, the intellectuals. You ask me, ‘Why do some disciples see much
light and others very little?’ Ego is in the why, I tell you, and not before
you become a conscious co-worker of the divine plan will the ego completely
disappear. One pundit,” continued our Satguru Ji, “figures out this and that
and works out a plan how to do it. But when it comes to really doing it, he
comes running to me to find out whether it is really safe. He does not know. So
learning does not help you, you see.” Pundits,
architects, magistrates, millionaires and paupers, a commodore, a princess from
the Punjab, and the sister of the late Prime Minister Nehru, Madame Pandit, all
were there paying their respects to the Master. “They all come
for one thing,” explained our Guru, “for the bread of life and the water of
life.” And to every
one of them, including the Western disciples, Master gave His love in equal
measure as there is only one measure of love for everyone-the utmost. It is there
without letup all the time. Love flows from Master in an endless stream. And no
matter when you come for it or what condition you are in “be rest assured” the
flow is constant. No matter how Master feels physically, whether He is busy or
not, the fountain of divine love is so big there is enough for everyone. “You cannot
drain the Master,” said Gianiji. Sometimes
Gianiji would come to our room at the ashram after the evening darshan to find
out if we had understood everything Master had told us. And we would sit there
on a red flowery rug in a circle, the fan going overhead mixing up the heat,
the moon looking in through the opened window, the water from Master’s well
dripping peacefully in the bathroom, a pink lizard motionless on the white wall
and a gray frog hopping undisturbed in the middle of the rug. We sat there
talking over what Master had said at the darshan: “If you love
someone, the time-you do not notice it. So in meditation sit there with the one
you love. At attention! Alone! “You want someone
else there? No? And what do you do? “Your body
sits and you, you are not there. God alone should be enthroned in your heart.
In meditation you find out how many other people and things you have put on the
throne, too. “You will have
to leave everyone and everything behind you at the moment of death. I’m the
only one that will be your companion till the very end. I’m already within you. “Where love
is, you are drawn this way. You think you love me, but the truth is I loved you
first. Your love is a reflection of my love. “So love God
alone and for His sake love everyone else. “Love knows
service and sacrifice,” our Satguru said to us. He amply
proved this to us during our visit at Manav Kendra. We stayed to
begin with in Master’s guesthouse on Rajpur Road and Master Himself had moved
to Manav Kendra, fourteen miles away. So in our loneliness we asked His
permission to join Him. We did not know at the time that our beloved Master
planned to be with us that very evening at His home on Rajpur Road. “Is that what
you want?” He asked us lovingly. “All right, then, move immediately. A car will
come for you.” Master
remained at Manav Kendra and we proceeded to move out there. Rooms were
assigned to us in the still uncompleted hospital. By Master’s orders the following
was done for us: Since there
was no electricity in the hospital as yet, an electrician stretched a wire from
the main cable to our rooms. The building debris was cleaned out; a plumber was
summoned to make the bathroom and sink workable and to open the main waterline.
Our cook Ramji was moved to Manav Kendra, his wife and baby also; the
refrigerator was moved from Dehra Dun; the stove moved; a carload of food came
in; four wooden beds arrived; spreads, pillows, blankets, quilts, all were
moved to Manav Kendra. Rugs were brought in, a couch, two club chairs came via
truck, an air conditioner, a fan, a dining room set appeared from somewhere,
even a Western-type top was immediately created by the carpenter and put above
the Indian bathroom’s opening in the floor. And the next
morning as we were blissfully meditating, we heard Master’s footsteps and cane
on the Cement sidewalk of our portico. Out we rushed
and there He was, radiant and smiling. I came here
for your darshan,” He said. Later, we sat
at Master’s feet at His bungalow in Manav Kendra forming part of a half-circle
around Him. Bending a little forward in His chair, He looked at us lovingly. “Sir,” someone
asked Him, “How do you manage to love us? We are so imperfect.” “You are like
a stone,” replied Maharaj Ji, “and I am chiseling out of it the precious thing
that is within it. “Be in life
like a compass. Always point to the north. In the world you vacillate here and
there, no aim. Point to God at all times. Watch your thoughts. Check your
dreams. Do you see Master there?” As the talk
continued, the sun fell on one side of Master’s forehead and for the first time
I suddenly saw the mark in God’s own handwriting there-the sign of Om. It was so
prominent, so outstanding, so thick, that a shadow from it fell on the other
side of the forehead. I looked at it and could not take my eyes away. It is one
thing to talk about the physical signs that every Saint possesses but it is
quite another thing to see them for oneself. Going back to
our hospital headquarters, I peered at every forehead I saw and each one of
them, compared with Master’s resembled a flat Indian chapatti. Back at the
hospital we found our dinner waiting for us. A
noble-looking Sikh in a maroon turban joined us. He was on his way to Kashmir
and had stopped over at Manav Kendra for a few days to pay his respects to the
Satguru. He stayed in the room next to ours with David Teed, the Dallas group
leader, and Ed Handley from Toronto. This gentleman
told us the story of his brother who has three sons and one daughter. The
daughter died and the grief-stricken parents begged Master Kirpal Singh to come
immediately. “Please,”
pleaded the bereaved father when Master arrived, “please, Maharaj Ji, take the
life of any one of my sons, but give me back my daughter.” Master,
however, did not do it, and got in His car for the trip to Delhi. Halfway down
the road Master ordered His driver to take Him back to the saddened family. On His return,
Maharaj Ji put His fingers on the forehead of the dead girl, pressed both of
her eyes, and lo and behold, she was alive once again. And Master did not take
the life of any of the three sons either. The Sikh gentleman had ended his
story. Master holds
the power over life and death in His hands, we observed. And securely in His
hands is our fate and salvation. “ ‘I want to
talk to the Saint,’ a man once accosted me,” Maharaj Ji told us. “I asked him,
‘What do you want to talk about with the saint?’ “The man
exclaimed in surprise, ‘Are you the Saint? But you look like a man.’ “ ‘A Saint is
a man first,’ I explained to him.” Our Master has
a lot of human touches. He likes to
laugh although it is almost a soundless laugh which you see more than hear. At times,
moved by our human wretchedness, Master is so compassionate that His eyes fill
with tears that trickle slowly down His cheeks. When Taiji
insists that Master change His clothes because they are crumpled and have spots
on them, He will say, “The people do not come to see my clothes. They come to
see me.” And he does not change them. Master’s sense
of humor is very gentle. We bought a
small toy for Ramji’s little daughter. We gave the present to our Master to
give in turn to Ramji with His blessing. Master asked,
“Is that for me?” “No, sir, it
is for ramji.” Master looked
at the toy rubber dog, squeezed it slightly so that it whistled, and said, “I
want a toy, too. Iam also a child-of God,” He added smilingly. Once a very
dear soul, Guru Parshad, the head of the Radhasoami group in Agra, came to
Delhi to pay his respects to our Master. The Guru had walked ten miles and came
in covered with dust. He is a little man. An ancient yellow turban adorned his
head. His sweet, old face with its loving eyes had humility written in every
wrinkle. Half sitting, half slipping off the couch next to Master, he related
that once before he had returned to his congregation in Agra bringing them some
sweet parshad from Maharaj Ji. They ate it with gratitude and asked him, “Now
that we’ve eaten the sweet parshad, could we eat you, too, Guru Parshad?” Master was
pleased with the story and even took the pains to translate it to us. A final
personal darshan is given to each departing disciple. It was our turn now.
Master’s silvery blue eyes rested on us with such love and compassionate
understanding we were bathed in bliss. “Maharaj Ji,
what if a disciple wants to remain a disciple forever so He could stay in the
Holy Presence of his Beloved, safe, secure and happy forever?” “You become a
Master,” replied Maharaj Ji, “as son as you become a true Gurmukh as at that
time you will realize that you and the Master are one.” The words of
an India disciple who lives in Rajpur came immediately to mind: “When you go up
there,” he said, “you will see
the Master’s body made out of light. You will see yourself coming out of His
body as light. You and your Master are one, you know.” We left in the
dark of evening. As we sat in the back seat of a car waiting to go, Maharaj Ji
stepped up to the window, looked at us once again, eyes to eyes, touched our
hands with both of His Holy Hands and said warmly, “God bless you.” |